


Lucky Us

by toesalignedarch



Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Established Relationship, Going on a date, M/M, Runaan's scar and Ethari's horn tip origin story, apprentice!Ethari, overconfidence is not a good look, trainee!Runaan, why is it always a banther, young(ish) ruthari
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:08:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22579870
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toesalignedarch/pseuds/toesalignedarch
Summary: He’s up and running within seconds, the tall grass tickling at his chest as he searches for his beloved. He doesn’t have to look far—he can see Ethari’s silhouette against the glow of the lunadeer, and as soon as he locks onto the deer it vanishes. Runaan blinks rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden lack of light.What the—“Runaan!”The fear in Ethari’s voice jolts him out of his disorientation. And then he understands: because right where the lunadeer had been standing, emerging from the shadows of the trees, is now a very large, unhappy banther with very sharp, outstretched claws.(or, the origin story of Runaan's torso scar and Ethari's prosthetic horn tip, and Runaan learns the hard way how to give a banther a spontaneous haircut)
Relationships: Ethari/Runaan (The Dragon Prince), Runaan/Ethari, Ruthari - Relationship
Comments: 10
Kudos: 103





	Lucky Us

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was inspired by [a post](https://beautifulterriblequeen.tumblr.com/post/189798780108/do-you-have-any-theories-about-runaans-torso) from [beautifulterriblequeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulterriblequeen/pseuds/beautifulterriblequeen), in which they present their theories for how Runaan got his torso scar(s) and how Ethari lost the tip of his horn!

Runaan is debating whether or not to bring his bowblade when he hears the first knock at the door.

“Coming,” he calls, ultimately deciding to leave his beloved traveling companion hanging on the wall of his home. He strides calmly to the door and opens it. “Hi,” he says, suddenly a little breathless because the elf who stands before him is glowing. No, really—the sun that illuminates him from behind passes through his shaggy hair, surrounding him in an ethereal halo of blinding light.

“Hi,” Ethari replies with a smile that rivals the sun. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Runaan steps outside, closing the door behind him. Instinctually his hand flies to where his bowblade usually rests across his chest and Ethari laughs at his momentary disorientation when he doesn't feel it.

“You think we’re going to be attacked?” he teases. “That someone’s going to be lying in the bushes for us?”

Runaan rolls his eyes, the corners of his lips twitching. “As if,” he says with a scoff. Runaan offers his hand to Ethari, who takes it and intertwines their fingers as they start toward the edge of the Silvergrove. “No elf in their right mind would dare ambush me.”

It’s Ethari’s turn to roll his eyes, and he makes sure Runaan is looking when he does. Runaan, in turn, scrunches his nose and pinches Ethari’s bicep, a light blush dusting his cheeks when he’s reminded of how Ethari’s body is changing as he spends more time in the forge. 

They’re headed to a secluded spot in the forest outside the Silvergrove, a serene oasis Runaan found one day when his training sent him scavenging in the woods for shelter. There’s a small pond tucked in the tall grass that’s surrounded by dense woods; there’s the occasional woodland creature that pops by to drink from the water or nibble on the berries that grow on the bushes, but they won’t be much of a problem. 

The magic veil sheds as the two elves walk hand in hand away from their village. A small wicker basket hangs from Ethari’s other elbow, something the apprentice had promised he would bring along. Runaan is practically drooling just at the slight aroma of moonberry surprise that wafts from the gaps in the weave. It shouldn’t have been a surprise that the nimble-handed elf was also a good baker, but Runaan continues to be impressed at all the skills Ethari has mastered.

Runaan leads the way through the forest, the tall trees leaving the marshy ground in dark shadows. The knotted branches and gnarly roots feel like home to him—he’s barely begun his training as an assassin and he already can recognize each tree they pass—but Ethari is looking around warily.

“Are you sure this is safe?” the smith asks, casting nervous glances as they walk deeper and deeper into the woods. It gets darker and colder too, the vegetation blocking more and more of the sunlight until their path is barely lit and covered with damn fallen leaves.

“I would never endanger you,” Runaan assures him with a gentle smile and a caress on his cheek. “We’ve got just a little more to go.”

Ethari swallows and braves a smile. “I trust you,” he says, and Runaan’s heart stutters.

As they walk, Runaan takes the opportunity to point out the things he notices to Ethari, who doesn’t get to spend much time outside of the forge. A brilliantly colored bird with three distinct tails flies overhead, and Ethari gasps when he notices it. Several steps later, Runaan points out a herd of deer in the distance, their tan coats barely visible against the tree trunks, but Ethari is still overjoyed to spot one as they bound away. With every animal, plant, and even sound they hear, Ethari’s joy at learning something new is positively infectious. The way his eyes light up when he spots what Runaan is trying to point out, or the way he smiles at Runaan’s explanation… the way Ethari clings onto his arm when they hear the roar of a banther over the hills… Runaan’s head over horns for this elf, and he knows it.

“Just you wait,” he tells an eager Ethari when the smith stops to admire a glowing fungus that hisses when touched hidden under a fallen tree. “If you like the Hushroom, you’ll find plenty more exciting things where we’re going.”

“Are we almost there?” Ethari asks, standing and dusting the damp dirt from his knees.

“Just past those trees there.”

“Let’s go then,” Ethari says with a grin. “Bet you can’t catch me!” He takes off toward the tree Runaan pointed out, the picnic basket thumping against his side as he sprints. Runaan hesitates for the briefest moment—he wants to call out to Ethari, to caution him against ruining the moonberry surprise that’s surely being torn apart in that picnic basket—before charging after him.

It’s not even the tiniest bit fair. Ethari, as dexterous as he is, is still a stranger to these woods that Runaan can navigate with his eyes closed. He knows the fastest route anywhere, already has mapped out the steps he’ll take and the jumps he’ll need to perform in order to avoid clumps of tree roots and lakes of mud. No matter how hard Ethari tries, he can’t beat weeks of training in this exact location.

But Runaan takes it easy on the smith. Ethari’s mere feet from the tree when Runaan leaps over him, tucked in a tight somersault, and landing soundlessly at the base of the tree. He stands, leaning easily against the tree with a light smile while Ethari pants next to him.

“Moon above,” he gasps between heaving breaths. “You’re quick.”

“That I am,” Runaan preens arrogantly. He grabs the picnic basket from Ethari, who barely even resists, and opens it. Thank the Moon—the moonberry surprise is still intact, if only a little crumbly at the edges. Satisfied, he sets the basket by his feet and crosses his arms, peering cockily at his companion. “You shouldn’t have started something you know I’ll win.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you like this,” Ethari murmurs, straightening and stepping closer to Runaan.

With his back pressed against the tree, he’s got no where to go. But he doesn’t mind, not when those sparkling brown eyes are all he can see, when every single one of his senses are consumed by the elf in front of him. Ethari leans his body against his, one hand supporting himself on the tree trunk while the other traces a line down Runaan’s cheek. He can feel Ethari’s heaving chest and pounding heart from their race and his own breaths and heartbeat from their closeness, and he relishes in the harmony. When Ethari lifts his chin upward with a single finger, he allows it.

“Correction,” Ethari whispers, his breath dusting over Runaan’s lips. “I _do_ like seeing you like this.”

When Ethari presses a kiss to his lips, he allows it. More than allows it—he returns it with enthusiasm, tangling his hands in Ethari’s windswept hair. They’ve kissed before, but each time still sends a jolt through Runaan. It surprises him how willing he is to let down the guard he’s worked so hard to put up whenever he’s with this elf; there’s something about him that makes Runaan feel safe. And it’s not just because he’s been filling out recently, though Runaan isn’t complaining about that, not when the thought of Ethari holding him down sends shivers down his spine.

Ethari’s lips are warm and pliant against his. It starts as a gentle kiss, this one, but it doesn’t stay that way. Runaan arches his back, pressing his hips into Ethari’s, earning a soft sigh from the elf. Ethari breaks their kiss first, staring into Runaan’s eyes for a moment before attaching himself to the base of his neck.

“Blessed Moon,” Runaan whispers, his hands tightening in Ethari’s hair. He can feel more than hear Ethari chuckle, the elf’s teeth nipping at his skin. Without a doubt he’ll leave with the more obvious bruises on his skin—he is, after all, a fair bit paler than Ethari—but he doesn’t care. He can think of excuses later, because Ethari is nibbling underneath his jaw and running his hands down the back of Runaan’s thighs. He lets out a quiet gasp when Ethari presses closer into him, feeling the heat and pressure building.

“You like that?” Ethari murmurs into his ear, pushing him into the trunk of the tree. Runaan hums, taking the opportunity to press a hard kiss to Ethari’s throat. Every breath Ethari lets out sends a vibration through Runaan, and he relishes in the ability to _feel_ what he’s doing to him.

Ethari’s got a hand pressed between his legs, the other working at the belt slung low across Runaan’s hips, when a particularly loud squawk from above jolts them back to reality. They both look up to see one of the three-tailed birds fly past, another one of its calls echoing through the forested hills as it flies towards the setting sun.

“Well,” Ethari says with a light laugh. Deftly, he redoes the belt and lifts himself off of Runaan, who shivers with the absence of pressing heat. “A nice detour, but not quite what we set out to do, was it?”

Runaan lets out an amused huff. He slumps against the tree, closing his eyes as he regains control over his complaining body and rioting urges. “A nice detour indeed,” he echoes. When his eyes open again, Ethari picks up the basket and offers a hand to Runaan.

“Shall we?”

Runaan smiles and intertwines their fingers. “We shall,” he declares, and leads the way to their destination.

The moment Ethari steps into the clearing, all frustrations of having been interrupted are wiped from Runaan’s mind. The smith’s mouth is agape at the sudden rays of sunlight that light up the tall grass in the absence of trees; his eyes are wide as he whirls around, trying to take in everything at once. It’s pure childish delight on Ethari’s face, and Runaan commits it to memory.

“This is _beautiful_ ,” Ethari gasps after he’s spun around once too many times. He staggers a bit and Runaan reaches out to steady him. “How did you find this?”

“One of our training exercises, actually,” Runaan tells him. He guides the dizzy elf to the center of the clearing, and sits him down on a smooth rock next to the pond. “We were supposed to find shelter in a relatively unfamiliar environment for two days, and I found this.”

“This is more than a shelter,” Ethari comments. “This is paradise.”

Runaan smiles. “I wouldn’t call it a _paradise_ ,” he muses. “But—”

“Come on,” Ethari insists. “Look at this place! It’s protected by trees, there’s water, there’s berries growing on the bushes over there, there’s actual _sunlight_ ”—he gestures dramatically at the sun and Runaan can only laugh—“what else could you possibly want in a shelter?”

“I was only here for two days, Ethari. There very well could be hidden dangers.”

Ethari scoffs. “Hidden dangers? Here? Surely you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Runaan says with a playful swat at Ethari’s arm. He opens the picnic basket and pulls out the moonberry surprise, mouth watering almost immediately. He spots some miscellaneous scraps at the bottom of the basket and frowns. When he looks questioningly at Ethari, the elf just shrugs. Leave it to Ethari to collect random bits and pieces wherever he goes. Runaan means to ask more, but with the weight of the moonberry surprise in his hands he’s (understandably) distracted. “For the exact reasons you just listed, this oasis is sure to draw plenty of smaller wildlife. And with prey animals come predators.”

“Sure, but be realistic.” Ethari accepts a plate piled high with moonberry surprise and digs in. “This grass isn’t that tall, and the trees are rather far away. How’s any predator going to sneak up on something that’s right here? It’d be nearly impossible.”

“Predators can lay low, you know,” Runaan informs him, also digging into the moonberry surprise. Blessed Moon, it’s delicious. “It may be hard to believe, but they have knees just as you and I do, and get this—they can _bend_ them!” He’s rewarded with a splash of water in the face. Sputtering indignantly, he blinks the pond water from his eyes and glares at Ethari, who gives him a faux innocent look like _who, me?_

“Oops,” the smith says, shaking droplets from his hands. “My hand slipped.”

Runaan flicks a chunk of moonberry surprise at him. “My sincerest apologies,” he says when it lands on Ethari’s shoulder. “My fingers seem to have a mind of their own.”

Instead of retaliating, Ethari throws his head back and laughs. It’s the kind of laughter that comes from pure joy, and Runaan can’t help but join in (though his laugh is softer and more controlled—he’s training to be the best assassin in Xadia after all). It takes a long time to settle down—every time Ethari sees Runaan’s wet hair or Runaan sees the chunk of moonberry on Ethari’s shoulder they are overcome with more laughter—but they do, eventually.

They’re laying in the tall grass side by side, staring at the sky. The sun is disappearing behind the trees and the hills, cooling the air and illuminating the clouds in striking shades of pink and orange. Runaan’s hair has dried and Ethari’s shoulder cleaned, and it’s peaceful, resting here in each other’s silent company. Runaan is almost falling asleep as he listens for Ethari’s steady breathing and the gentle rise and fall of his chest. Blessed Moon, he’s beautiful.

Ethari suddenly sits up. “Runaan,” he whispers urgently, blindly feeling around for the assassin. His hand smacks Runaan in the chest—“ _oof_ ,” Runaan coughs—and keeps hitting him. “Runaan, what’s that?”

“What’s what?” Runaan sits up and narrows his eyes at the shadow Ethari keeps gesturing to. There’s something between the trees, seemingly staring right at them, though it’s too far away to be sure.

“I saw it move,” Ethari whispers nervously.

“It’s probably just a deer or something,” Runaan whispers back. He puts a reassuring hand on Ethari’s shoulder, hoping his presence is enough to calm to smith. The last thing they need is for whatever it is to sense Ethari’s anxiety and come closer. “Don’t worry, Ethari. I’m here.”

The other elf bites his lip nervously. “This is all your fault,” he tries to joke. “If you hadn’t insisted that predators exist around here I wouldn’t be so nervous—”

“I was only joking with you,” Runaan tells him. “I’ve been here plenty of times and I haven’t seen anything that’ll attack elves. See? Look!” The thing is glowing as it approaches, its body reflecting the last rays of sunlight so that it looks almost silver. Runaan recognizes that aura immediately and relaxes (not that he was nervous to begin with). As it walks toward the two elves, its antlers become more prominent. “It’s just a lunadeer, see?”

“A what?”

“Lunadeer.” Runaan points at it. “It’s basically like a normal deer, but I think this species originated from one of the first Moon Nexus temples because they glow during the new moon and can blend in with their surroundings better. But it’s harmless; it’s prey.”

“Huh,” Ethari mutters. “Any known predators?”

“Not anything we find around here,” Runaan says. “Lunadeer don’t have many natural predators since they’re rather hard to find. You won’t see them if they don’t want to be seen.”

“So what does it mean that it’s glowing and letting us see it?”

Runaan frowns. “I’m not too sure,” he admits. “Some say that the glow is a mating signal”—he ignores the suggestive waggle of Ethari’s eyebrows—“while others say it’s a warning. I’ve never been able to figure it out; I’ve only ever seen a handful.”

“I want to get closer,” Ethari tells him, rising to a crouch. He stays low, hoping the tall grass will shield him.

“Go ahead,” Runaan says with a lazy wave of his hand. “They’re really very harmless; if you manage to get hurt with one of those then I really don’t know what to tell you.”

Ethari scrunches his nose at him and disappears.

If he listens carefully, Runaan can hear the noises of Ethari moving around. _He’s not very stealthy_ , he notes. _I can teach him._ He begins to think of scenarios in which Ethari would actually need to be stealthy, but can’t think of many; after all, someone who works in the forge hardly needs stealth with all the hammering and fire and general din coming out of the smithy. Although… he can’t help the smile and blush that rise when he imagines Ethari sneaking up behind him and surprising him with a kiss. It’s unrealistic, obviously, because Runaan would sense him coming, but it would be endearing to see Ethari employ something that he taught him—

“Um, Runaan?”

“What?” he calls back.

“I think the glow was a warning,” comes Ethari’s trembling voice from across the clearing. Huh, he sure moved far.

“Good to know,” Runaan says. Then he blinks, and sits up so quickly his neck complains with several cracks as Ethari’s words sink in. _A warning_. “Ethari? Ethari!”

He’s up and running within seconds, the tall grass tickling at his chest as he searches for his beloved. He doesn’t have to look far—he can see Ethari’s silhouette against the glow of the lunadeer, and as soon as he locks onto the deer it vanishes. Runaan blinks rapidly, his eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden lack of light. _What the—_

“Runaan!”

The fear in Ethari’s voice jolts him out of his disorientation. And then he understands: because right where the lunadeer had been standing, emerging from the shadows of the trees, is now a very large, unhappy banther with very sharp, outstretched claws.

He acts without thinking. Had he been any other elf he probably wouldn’t have made it in time, but he’s Runaan of the Moonshadow assassins and stubborn to a fault: he’s not going to let Ethari get mauled on his watch. The moment the banther swipes down with its massive paw, Runaan collides into the frozen elf, spinning in midair to ram his shoulder into Ethari’s chest to knock him out of the way. A searing pain bursts along the side of his torso and he kicks out wildly, connecting with the banther's paw just enough to avoid being sliced in two, but not hard enough to avoid the claw that continues to break his skin. There’s a startling _snap_ as Ethari lands and collapses onto the ground; Runaan’s quick sweep over Ethari’s crumpled form confirm success—Ethari is shaken but unharmed—but warmth oozing down his side _—_ soaking through his clothes and dripping onto the ground _—_ tells him he isn't so lucky.

Runaan lands ungracefully, his landing thrown by the force of the banther. He slides along the ground, feeling the blades of tall grass bending and breaking as he tramples them. He digs his heels down to slow his momentum, then jumps to his feet to stand between the banther and Ethari. Runaan presses a hand to where the banther clawed him—his hand comes away bloody and he winces. If even the tiniest sliver of the moon were out tonight he’d be untouchable…

“I thought you said predators don’t come here!” Ethari hisses, the sight of blood snapping him out of his trance. He pulls the back of Runaan’s tunic, trying to get him to retreat. With a low growl, the banther advances, its beady black eyes tracking every movement of the elves. Runaan instinctively reaches for his bowblade, only to curse himself for leaving it at home. He reaches inside his boot for his spare dagger; when his hand closes on the weapon he is momentarily reassured, only to realize how small the blade is compared to the lumbering beast. No matter, he could finish the job. This is what he trained for.

“Well apparently I was wrong,” Runaan hisses back, dropping into a defensive stance. “Ethari, get away from here.”

“What—Runaan, you’re not going to _fight_ the banther with _that_ , are you?”

“Ethari,” Runaan repeats firmly, eyes never leaving the ever closer threat. “Get away from here.” His voice leaves no room for questions.

Ethari doesn’t move for a second, then scrambles to his feet and, by the sound of it, runs back to where they’d left their picnic basket. Now that it’s just him and the banther, Runaan feels more at ease. He’s trained to fight with other assassins, other elves who are light on their feet and disciplined enough to understand the intricate dance of teamwork. Ethari, on the other hand, would only get in the way despite his best intentions, resulting in injuries to him, Runaan, or both.

The dagger in his hand is familiar and comforting; he’s defeated sparring partners with this blade before. Though, he had to admit, his training partners usually weren’t ten times his weight and twice his height. Runaan spins the dagger in his hand as he and the banther start to circle each other, each never looking away from the other. As long as Ethari stays out of the way, where he can’t get hurt or distract him, Runaan has no doubt he can defeat the beast. He eyes the banther’s claws—one set of them glistening with his blood; whether or not he’ll emerge unharmed is another story.

Runaan charges first, keeping low in the tall grass as the banther looms before him. The blade glints in the darkness for a second, then makes contact with the beast. But the fur is too shaggy and the blade too short; the short hilt of the dagger gets stuck in a matted knot and Runaan, rather than let go of his only weapon, is jerked backwards, his shoulder suddenly aching. The banther howls and before he can untangle his blade, Runaan is hit with a tremendous force and flies through the air. He lands with a loud _thump_ and rolls onto his feet. Mentally he checks for injuries—thankfully no broken bones this time, though the impact is sure to bruise. The only good thing is that the swat has dislodged his dagger with him.

_I am Runaan of the Moonshadow assassins_. _I fight for Xadia and kill with honor. I protect my people from dangers past, present, and future; it is my duty and as long as my physical form can endure, I will succeed_. His mantra circles in his head. It’s something he’s always told himself, and he knows other assassins have a similar thing. The familiar words bring him strength, remind him of his purpose, and calm any nerves or fears he might not be able to control. Tonight, these words fill his heart with courage and love—if he can even distract the banther long enough for Ethari to get away, he will have succeeded.

Absently, he hears Ethari rifling through the picnic basket as if one of the scraps can help their current situation. What’s he doing? What does he think— _No_ , Runaan tells himself. The banther is snarling now, its lip curled back to reveal rows of pointy teeth. _Focus, Runaan, focus. Your objective is to keep Ethari safe and avoid killing the banther if possible. Stay focused_.

He senses the banther’s movement mere moments before it happens; Runaan tucks into a roll right as the banther pounces, landing in the spot where he had just been standing. As he feels the beast pass over him, he raises his hand with the dagger and feels drops of warm blood splatter onto his arm. The banther howls angrily and whirls around, tensing to pounce again. Runaan sees it, and this time he dodges to the right, zigzagging around the banther and aiming a kick at its fleshy underside. His boot connects exactly where he meant it to, but he’s underestimated the banther: rather than sinking into soft flesh, his foot is crushed against a solid surface. Runaan ricochets off, landing clumsily on his other leg. His dominant foot is throbbing in its boot—most likely not broken, though it hurts to put pressure on it—and the banther is barely affected. Runaan swallows. Maybe this isn’t going to be as easy as he had thought.

Runaan dodges a few more swipes, taking every opportunity to slash at the banther with his dagger. But it’s really more like poking an angry bear than actively encouraging the beast to leave—he doesn’t even know if half of his attacks are breaking through the thick fur. Runaan isn’t one for killing wild animals, but at this rate, he might have to just to keep himself alive. If only he’d brought his bowblade…

“Runaan, duck!”

“What—”

Runaan jerks to the side. Something flies past him, nearly nicking the tip of his ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Ethari’s arm still outstretched, then whips around to follow the object. It’s spinning too fast for him to make out what it is, but there’s a telltale glow that he recognizes as an enchantment. Whatever it is, it hits the side of the banther with a small thud.

“What’s that supposed to do?” he shouts at Ethari without taking his eyes off the equally confused beast.

“Just give it a second! If it works like it’s supposed to, it’ll—”

There’s a flash of blue light. A glowing weighted net expands from where the object is stuck to the banther’s fur, and forces it to the ground. The banther bellows and struggles, but the enchantment keeps it down. Runaan starts forward, but stops when he hears Ethari yell.

“Don’t! It’s not done yet!”

“What do you mean it’s not done—”

A loud zap fills the air. The banther goes still.

In the following silence, Runaan can only stare. Beneath the net, the banther looks like it’s sleeping peacefully. He hears Ethari run up beside him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, grabbing Runaan by the shoulders and eyeing him from horn tip to boot.

“I’m fine,” Runaan says brusquely. “What was that?”

Ethari leans down, tears a strip of his own purple scarf, and proceeds to press it against the gash on Runaan’s side. “Stay still,” he instructs when Runaan hisses and leans away. “That thing I threw is something I’ve been working on for the past few months at the smithy. It’s still a new prototype, we’re lucky it worked—”

“Why? What’s it for?” Runaan still can’t wrap his mind around it.

Ethari gives him a rushed explanation as he continues to treat the wound as best as he can. “I was thinking for situations when you’re unable to defend yourself but don’t want to kill, for whatever reason. Like if you need to take a hostage? Or find yourself at the mercy of an angry banther. You’d throw that thing, it sticks to the target, and releases a weighted net that’ll stop whoever your opponent is and make them drop to the ground.”

“So… it’s not dead?”

“No, it’s still very much alive,” Ethari says. He knots the strip of cloth so that it stays in place, then rushes to grab the picnic basket. “It’s merely temporarily tranquilized. It’ll wake up in a bit if I enchanted it properly, the net’s designed so that once the enchantment lifts it disappears, so we really should get out of here—"

“Wait, wait,” Runaan says. “You made that?”

“You could sound a little less surprised,” Ethari grumbles. “Yes, I made it, and I know its limitations. We need to leave before it wakes up.” Ethari starts dragging Runaan behind him as he heads toward the edge of the clearing.

“But what about the prototype?”

“I can always make a new one. Come on, Runaan!”

“You’ve spent so long on it—"

Ethari stamps his feet impatiently. “That doesn’t matter right now! I can always make a new one, but I can’t do that if we’re both _dead_!”

Runaan frowns, then makes up his mind. With a sharp jerk of his elbow, he breaks Ethari’s hold on his cloak and darts back to the docile banther. Ignoring Ethari’s shouts, he digs his hand into the fur and yanks—the prototype sticks stubbornly to the shaggy fur, but with a slice of his dagger he cuts it free. The moment the prototype is freed, the shimmering blue net disappear and the banther begins to stir.

“ _Runaan_!”

Runaan runs. His foot aches with every step but he doesn’t stop, not even when he catches Ethari by the arm and hauls the smith behind him. As they leave the clearing behind, they hear the roar of the banther fade into the distance. Once Runaan passes the tree that marks the halfway point between the clearing and the Silvergrove (see? He really _does_ know every tree in the forest), he collapses.

Ethari stumbles and ends up on the ground beside him, both elves panting hard. Runaan’s foot feels like it’s being stabbed by a sun-forged blade, and his side is aching, blood seeping through the makeshift tourniquet and dripping onto his pants.

“Moon above,” Ethari gasps as his chest heaves for air. “Runaan, why did you run back? You could have _died!_ ”

He’s exhausted, but not enough to stop a sheepish smile from sliding onto his face. Runaan holds up his hand and shows Ethari the prototype—in tact, though with a bit more banther fur than Ethari originally intended.

"Oh," Ethari sighs once he catches sight of the silver orb. He rolls onto his side and snatches the prototype from Runaan's hand, a fond smile on his lips. "Runaan… I still have my diagrams back in the smithy. I could’ve easily made another one, you foolish elf."

"Your foolish elf," Runaan replies, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of Ethari's mouth. It’s funny how something so simple as kissing Ethari brings him so much joy, especially now, after they’ve survived such an ordeal together. _Together_ , his mind echoes as Ethari kisses him properly. _I guess we do make a good team after all_.

They break apart when Ethari tries to pull Runaan closer, resulting in a hand covered in blood and a deep wince. 

"No, no, I'll be fine," Runaan insists when Ethari goes to rip more of his scarf. "Once we get back I've got some leftover balm that'll fix this. It’s stopped bleeding, I think. Are you hurt?"

Ethari glances down at himself. "I don't think so," he mutters as he runs a hand over his body, through his hair, up to his horns— 

"Oh."

"What? What’s wrong?" Runaan props himself up on an elbow, trying to get a good look at Ethari.

"My horn..." Ethari dips his head and gestures to his right horn, where the tip has broken off.

Runaan's stomach sinks—so that was the source of the crack from earlier. "I'm so sorry," he whispers, reaching out a hand to grab Ethari's. "I didn't mean to break your horn—"

Ethari clicks his tongue. "Don't apologize," he says as he rubs Runaan’s knuckles comfortingly. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“But you’ll feel off balance, won’t you?” Runaan brushes the jagged surface with a fingertip. “And you’ll get this caught on your clothes.”

Ethari’s features soften. “I’ll make a prosthetic tip,” he promises. "Don’t feel bad, Runaan. You saved my life. I'd trade the tip of my horn for a lifetime with you any day."

“You sappy romantic,” Runaan mutters, blushing furiously and snatching his hand away.

Ethari laughs, and Runaan can’t help but laugh, and as they lie in the dirt with their respective wounds their joy—at having each other, at being alive, at being alive with each other—echoes around the hills and into the night sky. There’s no moon hanging above them tonight, at least none that they can see. But with Ethari laying beside him, that’s all Runaan needs.

“Come on,” he says after a while, once he sees Ethari start to shiver. The smith’s sleeveless garb isn’t meant to stray far away from the warmth of the forge. “Let’s get back.”

They walk with Ethari’s arm around Runaan’s waist for support, the assassin limping ever so slightly. The walk back to the Silvergrove seems longer now that they’re traveling no faster than the meandering of a glow toad, but Runaan doesn’t really mind. As they approach the tree upon which they need to perform the ritual to reenter their village, Ethari pauses.

“What’s wrong?” Runaan asks.

Ethari looks pensively toward where the Silvergrove is hidden under layers of complex illusions. “I can’t believe we’re alive,” he says quietly.

Runaan scoffs. “Of course we’re alive. I wouldn’t let you get hurt under my watch.”

“I wish you’d say the same about yourself,” Ethari says, turning to face him. He runs a hand over the slash on Runaan’s side, the callouses on his palms catching on the blood-stained fabric, then rubs a thumb gently over a dark bruise on Runaan’s neck.

“That one’s not from the banther,” Runaan informs him, barely holding back a smirk.

“What—” Runaan can see the exact moment it clicks in Ethari’s head. His cheeks darken and a familiar heat appears in his eyes. He chuckles, his breath warm on Runaan’s lips. “Well,” Ethari says lowly, leaning in close. “At least we have an excuse ready this time.”

“Lucky us,” Runaan whispers back, and surges forward.

**Author's Note:**

>  _come say hi on[tumblr](https://toesalignedarch.tumblr.com)_ :)


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